Free The Holiday Home by Fern Britton Page A

over her shoulder, ‘I’ll be back to help you lay the table in a minute, Uncle Francis.’
    Francis slowly resumed unpacking and storing the groceries, then made a start on washing the lettuce for his organic poached salmon salad. His thoughts were a mess. Should he tell Pru about Belinda? How would he introduce Belinda? How long was she planning to visit? Oh God, oh God.
    ‘Francis?’ Pru’s querulous voice made him jump yet again. He clutched his chest with a damp lettuce hand. He turned to face her. ‘Yes, darling?’
    She studied him intently, until he felt as if his mind was being read. Eventually she said, ‘Are you all right? You look very pink and glazed.’
    ‘I’m fine. Just, erm, thinking about some jobs I need to do.’
    ‘Oh, good. Would you put the dripping tap in our en-suite basin on the list? Get Greg to help. He does bugger-all when he’s here. When’s lunch?’
    ‘About ten minutes.’
    ‘Bring it up to me, would you? I’m expecting a conference call any minute.’
    ‘Yes, Pru.’ But she’d already left the room.
    Abi and Jem reappeared with clean feet and found Francis looking worse than ever.
    ‘Dad, you don’t look at all well. Sit down and I’ll make you a drink.’
    Francis did as he was told.
    Abi started to lay the table. ‘I’ll fix lunch, Uncle Francis, and Jem and I will wash up. You need a rest.’

6
    F rancis looked so poorly that even Pru noticed. Mildly concerned, she graciously vacated the big bedroom saying that she would take her conference call in the rumpus room, while Jeremy drew the curtains and settled his father down for a nap.
    ‘I’m absolutely fine, Jem.’
    ‘You’re not, Dad. You don’t look yourself. What time did you get up this morning?’
    ‘Not too early. Five-ish.’
    Jeremy raised his eyebrows as his father lay down on the bed. ‘Did you run?’
    ‘Only a little jog.’
    ‘Well, there you are. You’re just a bit knackered. Get some kip and we’ll see you later.’ Jeremy pulled a soft rug over his father’s legs and left him to it.
    Lying alone in the semi-darkness, Francis could hear the quiet roar of the ocean through an open window. His mind was in shreds. What should he do? Belinda was coming. Belinda was coming. Belinda was coming. Come on, man – pull yourself together – have a sleep and the answer will come to you. Belinda is coming, Belinda is coming. The rhythm of these words took him into a restless slumber.
    *
    Downstairs, the rest of the family sat down to the tasty salmon salad Francis had prepared. There was an odd silence as they ate, missing Francis’s attentions. Everyone finished quickly. Thanks to a bit of teamwork, they tidied up the kitchen in no time and cleared off to do their own thing.
    ‘Come along, Henry.’ Dorothy was standing impatiently by the back door. ‘It’s at least forty minutes to Lostwithiel.’
    ‘Lostwithiel? Why are you going there?’ asked Connie.
    ‘There are some staddle stones for sale. Supposed to have come from Daphne du Maurier’s house in Ready Money Cove. They’d look rather good on our drive.’
    ‘What are staddle stones, Granny?’ asked Abi.
    Henry answered, ‘Those stone mushroom things. I’m not prepared to pay over the odds for them, Dorothy.’
    Dorothy waved a hand airily. ‘Your Poppa has short arms and long pockets. Now come along, Henry.’
    Abi looked at Jem. ‘Fancy a bike ride?’
    ‘Sure,’ he said, draining his glass of squash.
    Abi dropped a kiss on her father’s head. ‘Bye, Dad. See you later.’
    Greg was desperate to find a quiet place where he could talk to Janie on his mobile. Connie and Pru were still in the house. He walked to the stairs and called up: ‘Connie? I’m going to the garage – fill up with fuel while I can. See you in a bit.’
    Connie appeared at the top of the stairs in shorts and T-shirt with a towel and a book under her arm. ‘OK, darling. I’m going down to the beach for a snooze and a read.’
    Greg felt a sense of